


Declaration of intent

by Veto_power_over_clocks



Series: Decepticon Hot Rod AU [5]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: And then my ghost will appear to get it back, Canon-Typical Violence, Decepticon Hot Rod AU, M/M, Marks, Misunderstandings, Pining, Robogore (details inside so you can skip it), Some angst, Tactile Sexual Interfacing, Transformers Plug and Play Sexual Interfacing, Unethical Experimentation, You'll have to rip outlier!Rodimus out of my cold dead hands
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-16
Updated: 2019-03-16
Packaged: 2019-11-09 08:26:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17998361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Veto_power_over_clocks/pseuds/Veto_power_over_clocks
Summary: For the second time since they established their alliance, Deadlock doesn't come back.Hot Rod will find him.





	Declaration of intent

**Author's Note:**

> If you haven't read the previous fics in the series, what you need to know is that Hot Rod's a Decepticon here. He asked Deadlock to become his ally, but Deadlock didn't see any point and only agreed to be Hot Rod's protector. Said alliance involved Deadlock marking Hot Rod so that everyone would know he's not alone. Hot Rod thinks this is some macho BS, because he _did_ survive in Nyon for years, thankyouverymuch; he _can_ take care of himself. Plus, he doesn't like the idea of not being allowed to protect Deadlock too. So, basically, Deadlock sees himself as Hot Rod's protector, while Hot Rod sees them as having an alliance. In case you're wondering, I'm with Hot Rod on this one.
> 
> Also? Hot Rod's pining. _Hard._
> 
> As usual: Squire and Mars are wonderful, beautiful and amazing people who have to deal with me dropping into chats with twenty ideas and no filter, and proceed to encourage me. Many thanks to you both; I love you.
> 
>  **Warnings:** a very vague description of a doctor studying some body parts, some unethical experimentation, some robogore. If you want to skip, I've added details at the end notes.

Some things Hot Rod loves: pink energon goodies, not needing to worry about fuel, hanging out with people, those few times he gets to steal Deadlock away from whatever it is he’s busy with so they can spend a few hours doing nothing… and Deadlock. He loves Deadlock. He’s also _in_ love with him, has been for so long that he has forgotten what it’s like not to.

“Where did you get them?” Deadlock asks, pointing at the list of movies Hot Rod’s showing him.

“Banshee.” Hot Rod grins. “He’s spent years collecting them from everywhere, so I asked him if I could borrow some. It took me ages,” he finishes in a whisper, shielding the side of his mouth with a hand like he’s telling a secret.

Deadlock’s lips are tightly pressed together in an unsuccessful attempt to suppress a smile.

“When do you have to give them back?”

“Tomorrow, so we have to pick carefully. I don’t know when he’ll let me borrow them again; we can’t watch something bad,” he says, mock-solemnly.

“And here I was _so_ excited about ‘Starlight Missing’,” Deadlock deadpans.

Hot Rod laughs and mentally congratulates himself. He hadn’t been sure how Deadlock would feel about a movie night, but if he judges by how eagerly he’d reached for the datapad with the movie list, it’ll go well.

After looking at the titles several times, Deadlock gives the datapad back to Hot Rod, looking somewhat wistful.

“You choose. I have no idea what’s good.”

“What?” Hot Rod waves the datapad. “Come on, something must have caught your attention.”

Deadlock shrugs and smirks.

“Everything, really. Not many chances to go to the movies in the Dead End.”

Hot Rod opens his mouth and looks back to the datapad.

“Yeah. I don’t know either. Nyon’s streets weren’t the best place for a movie night,” he says, trying for a light tone and instead coming out darkly amused.

He glances at Deadlock, who is giving what can also be classified as a darkly amused look.

“Should we pick something at random?” Deadlock asks.

“What if it’s bad?”

“Then we’ll have to hope that Banshee lets you borrow them again.”

Deadlock’s habsuite is bigger than Hot Rod’s, but it doesn’t have a holoscreen on which to watch the movie, which means that, despite all the space available, they have to sit close to each other and hold the datapad between them. Having Deadlock so close makes the movie actually bearable because what they watch is definitely an… experience.

It’s some experimental film about a doomed love affair between a race car and a laser pointer. At some point, the image was turned upside down. Other times, the sound went off and the dialogue was in subtitles. And there were scenes in which the characters were in grayscale.

“…is this symbolic?” Hot Rod asks, watching as the laser pointer slowly disappears instead of walking away.

“I have no idea,” Deadlock says, sounding as perplexed as Hot Rod. “I’m starting to think we’d had been better off with ‘Starlight Missing’. At least with that one we knew what we were watching.”

Hot Rod looks up at Deadlock’s face and bursts out laughing at his expression, a mixture of deep confusion and trepidation.

“Banshee needs to start curating his collection,” Hot Rod manages to say as he laughs.

“Urgently,” Deadlock says in a comically restrained tone before he starts laughing as well.

The movie’s terrible. One of the few movies Deadlock and Hot Rod have seen in their lives and it’s the worst thing ever. It isn’t funny enough, but Hot Rod keeps laughing, his happiness at being next to Deadlock coming out of him transformed into sound. He doesn’t notice when he turns to hide his face on Deadlock’s arm, trying to muffle his laughter against his plating; he’s simply aware that his mouth is against Deadlock, which is _dangerous_. That sobers him up, his laughter turning into giggles until he finally falls silent, his forehead pressed against Deadlock’s arm.

“Sorry about that,” Hot Rod says lightly as he moves away.

He tilts his head back to look at Deadlock, who has a small, amused smile on his face. It’s a nice smile. Hot Rod likes it. He also likes how soft Deadlock’s eyes become when it’s only the two of them together, when he can lower his guard and laugh. He likes how calm his field feels, even if he never lets any emotions flow through it. For the umpteenth time, Hot Rod wishes Deadlock would kiss him.

The movie’s terrible music keeps playing in the background, now loud enough to drown the dialogue. Deadlock’s expression has slowly turned pensive. He’s still looking at Hot Rod. If Deadlock leaned down just a bit, he could press his lips to Hot Rod’s. Just a small effort. If Deadlock wanted him, this would be a good moment to make a move.

Deadlock turns his attention back towards the datapad, and Hot Rod doesn’t allow himself to be disappointed. He knows that his feelings are one-sided.

When the movie _finally_ ends, Deadlock stands up far too quickly.

“I’m a bit tired,” he says apologetically. “I don’t want to kick you out but…”

“It’s fine,” Hot Rod says, getting to his feet and not showing his disappointment. He’d been looking forward to discussing that _thing_ they’d just seen, but he guesses they can do that some other day. “Sleep well, yes?”

“I will,” Deadlock says, opening his door.

Hot Rod turns to say goodbye once he’s in the hallway, but Deadlock’s already closing the door.

.

.

.

.

Some things Hot Rod hates, in no particular order: hats, wasting fuel, loneliness, leaving people behind, missing someone that’s _right there_.

That last one is a new addition to the list, but it’s quickly becoming one of the worst feelings of Hot Rod's life.

... _fine_ , that’s probably an exaggeration, considering he’s in the middle of a _war_ , but at least he feels he has _some_ degree of control over most of what happens during said war. If Hot Rod gets shot, he’s the only one at risk of dying. If a soldier gets left behind, Hot Rod can try to get him back. If he’s in charge of a mission, he can take care of the details.

Meanwhile, if someone doesn’t want to see him, he has to respect his wishes, even if it kills him.

It has been three days since Deadlock started avoiding him, and Hot Rod feels his absence like a hole in his armor.

The first day, he hadn’t really noticed. Deadlock had told him that he was busy when Hot Rod had suggested a drive around the base, and Hot Rod had believed him. The next day, though, Deadlock hadn’t answered Hot Rod's calls, which was odd. Deadlock always answered, even when it was the middle of the night, even when he was busy, even when Hot Rod was standing right next to him and using the private comm line because he didn’t feel like opening his mouth. He hadn’t been in his habsuite when Hot Rod had come to see him (Hot Rod's trying to believe that that’s the case, not that Deadlock hadn’t wanted to open the door). He’d promptly left every time Hot Rod had walked into any room he’d been in.

Deadlock hasn’t avoided him since he marked Hot Rod.

Three days, and Hot Rod doesn’t know how to ask him what he did wrong. He’s not ready to find out that Deadlock hates him.

.

.

.

.

On the fifth day, he gathers all his courage and goes looking for Deadlock.

Part of him had hoped that Deadlock would be happy to see him, that he’d meet Hot Rod halfway when he saw him approach him and smile at Hot Rod in that way he did, where he tried his best to appear neutral and the smile ended up in his eyes instead of his mouth. He’d hoped Deadlock would apologize and say it was all a misunderstanding, and Hot Rod would have been happy to believe him.

Deadlock heads for the door the moment Hot Rod enters the common area. There’s no mistaking the unease on his face when he looks back to find Hot Rod has followed him.

He can still turn around and delay the conversation. He doesn't have to deal with this today, or ever.

Deadlock keeps walking. Hot Rod follows. His only comfort is that, for some reason, Deadlock isn’t moving at the speed he goes when he’s alone; he’s moving at the speed he goes when walking next to Hot Rod, slow enough that Hot Rod doesn’t have to jog to keep up with him.

They continue in silence until they’re outside the base, where Deadlock finally turns to him with a wary expression. He’s standing too far away, Hot Rod would have to take at least one step to be able to touch him if he extended his arm.

“You’re avoiding me,” Hot Rod says before Deadlock gets to open his mouth.

“Hot Rod-"

“Please don’t try to deny it. You owe me better than that.”

Deadlock winces.

“I wasn’t going to.”

“So you _are_ avoiding me.” Thankfully, Hot Rod manages to sound affronted instead of pained. Deadlock doesn't have to know.

Deadlock at least has the decency to look somewhat guilty, but he doesn’t say anything.

“Why?” Hot Rod asks.

“It’s nothing,” Deadlock says quietly. “Just leave me alone.”

“What did I do?”

“You didn’t do anything.”

“Then why are you avoiding me?” Hot Rod can’t keep the sadness completely out of his voice. He hopes Deadlock didn’t notice.

“What does it matter?” Deadlock asks exasperatedly. “I don’t owe you an explanation.” He sighs and tiredly says, “I just need a break, Hot Rod. It’s not your fault.”

“But-"

“Hot Rod, _please_. What does it matter?” He sounds almost pleading.

“I care about you,” Hot Rod says. “I’ve missed you.”

“Hot Rod, I…” Deadlock closes his eyes for a moment. “I agreed to the alliance. That’s what you wanted. Why do you insist on spending time with me?”

“Seriously? The alliance was _years_ ago. I just thought- I thought we were friends.”

“I know. We are.” He sounds as pained as Hot Rod feels.

“You could have told me you were tired,” Hot Rod says accusingly.

“I’m not.”

“Oh, really? Then why have you spent five days running away from me?”

“I haven’t-"

“Deadlock, don’t lie to me.”

“I’ve never lied to you, Hot Rod,” Deadlock says severely. “I’m not running from you. I just… I just can’t see you right now.”

Hot Rod laughs humorlessly.

“Right. That doesn’t sound like you’re sick of dealing with me.”

“I’m not! I could never-"

“Why? Because of the alliance?” He points at the mark on his neck. “Because if that’s the case, nothing says you have to put up with me!” Hot Rod gives himself a moment to calm down before adding, “I thought you wanted to hang out with me. I thought you were having fun.”

“I was! I _like_ spending time with you.” There’s a hint of _something_ in his voice that sounds a bit like despair.

“But you need a break from me.” Hot Rod takes a step back.

“It’s not like that.” Deadlock stays where he is.

“Stop saying that and explain!”

“I can’t.”

“You can’t or you just don’t want to?”

Deadlock simply looks at him with a conflicted expression on his face.

“You can have your break. You could have just asked for it,” Hot Rod says resignedly, turning around.

“Hot Rod…”

He looks back to find Deadlock has taken a step forward and that his arm is extended, like he’d been trying to reach for Hot Rod. It occurs to him that in all these years of alliance, Deadlock has rarely initiated contact; it was always Hot Rod touching his arm, Hot Rod offering to share memories, Hot Rod playfully nudging him. The alliance had been Hot Rod's idea. Almost every single moment they’d spent together had been Hot Rod's idea.

After years of humoring him, it's no wonder that Deadlock’s tired.

Deadlock is still looking at him. Slowly, he lowers his arm.

“I’m leaving tomorrow,” Deadlock says quietly. “Something about some scientists that haven't reported in a while.”

“Will you be back soon?” Hot Rod asks before he can stop himself.

“Shouldn’t be more than two days.” Deadlock shrugs. “It’s just recon. If they’re fine, I have to go in and remind them that the science division is required to present regular reports, just like everybody else.”

Hot Rod has to clench his jaw to stop himself from making a joke about Megatron and paperwork.

“Take care.” That’s not a much better thing to say.

“Always.” Deadlock takes another step towards Hot Rod and stops there, close enough that Hot Rod can almost feel his field, close enough that if Hot Rod turned to face him he could rest his forehead on Deadlock’s chest, close enough that Hot Rod’s spark tries to reach for Deadlock’s, aware as it is of its nearness. “Will you see me off at the shuttle bay?”

“What about this break you needed?”

Deadlock averts his eyes.

Hot Rod walks away.

“I’ll bring you a souvenir,” Deadlock says, so softly that Hot Rod doesn’t need to bother acknowledging that he heard him.

He hides in his habsuite and does his best not to shatter under the weight of rejection, his hand on the mark and his eyes on the trinkets scattered around his room, all of them gifts Deadlock had brought him from different assignments, things he’d picked up at random: ornaments, colorful rocks, utensils… Hot Rod always jokingly asked Deadlock for a souvenir, and Deadlock had always delivered; he now wonders how annoying it must have been for Deadlock to find something to bring him.

The next day, he hides and watches Deadlock in the shuttle bay. Deadlock stands in front of his transport, his arms crossed in front of his chest and his eyes on the entrance, his expression focused and expectant. As naïve as it is, Hot Rod hopes Deadlock’s waiting for him to show up to say goodbye.

He doesn’t want to deal with the truth, so he stays out of sight, watching until Deadlock finally boards his shuttle and flies away.

.

.

.

.

“Hand me that brain module,” Doctor says from his desk, which is currently covered with a sheet and full of tools.

Hot Rod picks up the part and drops it into Doctor's extended hand.

“What are you doing?”

“Practicing,” Doctor says as he peels away a layer of metal. “Brain modules are tricky.” He pulls at a wire with some tweezers and Hot Rod looks away. Doctor snorts, his amusement rippling through his field. “Why are you here?”

“I’m bored,” Hot Rod whines.

“Go see your ‘protector’, I’m sure he’d be happy to entertain you.”

“He left yesterday morning. And he wouldn’t.” He tries to sound indifferent. He almost succeeds.

“No?” The amusement is replaced by puzzlement. “Did you have a fight?”

“I think he’s tired of me.”

Disbelief now. It’s annoying; what does he know?

“Sure. He’s tired of you and I’m forged. What’s next? You’re an Autobot?”

“What are you talking about?” Hot Rod glances at Doctor, who has apparently dedicated his life to perfecting the art of looking unimpressed despite not having a visible face.

Then Doctor’s field is flooded by shock and quickly drawn back until Hot Rod can’t sense it anymore.

“Oh, for Solomus's… You have no idea, do you?”

“About what?”

Doctor shakes his head and looks down at the brain module again. Some more wires and cables are coming out of the opening he made. Hot Rod looks away again.

“Nevermind,” Doctor grumbles. There are some clinking sounds as he works. “So! When is he coming back?”

“Tonight or tomorrow. I looked up where he was going, it’s not far from here.”

Doctor’s field expands again, showing mild surprise.

“There are still inhabited worlds around here?” More clinking sounds and some scraping. “Huh. I thought we’d scared everyone off.”

“It’s not an attack, he’s off to check on some scientists. Apparently they haven’t reported in a while.”

“Megatron is missing his paperwork, isn’t he?” Doctor chuckles.

Hot Rod laughs and glances at Doctor; he has set aside the brain module and is busy examining some short wires under a magnifying glass.

“Do I want to know what that is?”

“ _This_ is the source of all suffering,” Doctor says rather grandiosely. In a normal voice, he adds, “These are the wires that connect the pain center of your brain to everything else. They’re _extremely_ well-protected; it’s easier to remove all pain sensors than to get to these two without killing someone.”

“Then why are you examining them?”

Doctor tilts his head from side to side a couple of times.

“This bot died of Cybercrosis. The final moments are extremely painful and I wanted to see if something happened to these wires in the process.” He sets aside his tools and starts cleaning the area. “When the war ends, I’m publishing an article on my findings.”

Hot Rod frowns. “Didn’t you say you were doing this to practice?”

“I am. You think I couldn’t have gotten these wires out more easily?” Doctor huffs. “I didn’t have to go to the trouble of keeping the outer structure intact and do my best to get them out without ruining everything else…” A hint of sheepishness in his field. “I didn’t really succeed there, but, like I said, there’s no reason to mess with this in the real world.”

Hot Rod watches him gather his tools and begin the cleaning up process, which is a signal to get out of there, half because watching Doctor clean up is the most boring thing he can do, half because Doctor will kick him out sooner or later – he’s meticulous to an almost obsessive level, cleaning everything until it gleams even though there are mechs in charge of that, and he insists that bots in the medibay can contaminate what he has already cleaned, even if they don’t move around the room. He keeps the medibay perfectly organized, even though he isn’t the chief medic in the base. His hands are spotless. Hot Rod has never met anyone more proud of his job, and that’s the main reason he trusts him with his life: Doctor hates mistakes and sloppiness.

“See you later, Doctor.” He waves from the door and waits for Doctor to wave back before heading for the shooting range. It’s been a while since he practiced.

He sets up an internal alarm and passes the time lost in the monotony of aiming and shooting, pointedly not thinking about Deadlock until the alarm tells him it’s time to go lurk around the shuttle bay.

He hides again, waiting for Deadlock to arrive, his fingers tapping a rhythm on the mark on his neck.

Hours pass and Deadlock doesn’t appear.

 _He’ll be here tomorrow_ , Hot Rod tells himself as he drags himself back to his habsuite.

.

.

.

.

Despite the fact that Deadlock doesn’t want anything to do with him, the next day Hot Rod can’t hide. Deadlock will be there any minute, and just knowing that soon he’ll be able to see him makes it impossible to stay still, even if their last conversation makes him want to curl up in a corner. He only needs a glimpse, a few seconds to ensure that his assignment went without a hitch and he’s uninjured. It’s not much to ask for.

He paces around the shuttle bay, excitement being slowly replaced by anxiousness as the hours pass and Deadlock doesn’t appear.

When morning comes, he manages to move his stiff frame from the corner in which he spent the night and drag himself to the communications center.

“According to what we know, Deadlock’s shuttle hasn’t left Rirsbnig yet,” Crystal Wing says in this unnerving way he has of stretching the first syllable of every word, which added to how _slowly_ he speaks means you spend far too much time listening to his voice. “I don’t think there’s any reason to worry.” He _slowly_ turns around and checks the screen again. “He was probably called to go elsewhere and forgot to tell us.”

“That’s against protocol,” Hot Rod snaps.

“Is it?” He looks pensive for a minute. A literal minute. Hot Rod is trying very hard not to scream. “It wouldn’t be if Megatron summoned him.”

“He would have called,” Hot Rod says, certain. “Or he would have come here first.”

Crystal Wing _slowly_ tilts his head as he _slowly_ changes his expression into a bemused one. You only need to watch him move to realize why he’s in charge of archiving and reviewing information instead of anything more time-sensitive. Has Hot Rod mentioned that Crystal Wing is slow? Because he is.

“Move over, Crystie, I’ll take it from here,” Thunderbird chirps, rolling to Crystal Wing’s side and pushing away his chair, which rolls with said mech on it until coming to a gentle stop when it softly hits a console. “You said Rirsbnig, right?”

Hot Rod nods. There’s a gleam of excitement in Thunderbird’s eyes.

“Why are you so sure that something’s wrong?”

“He said he’d be here in two days and he hasn’t arrived yet.”

“So? Dear Crystie’s right, he might have gone elsewhere,” he says, so exaggeratedly dismissive that it only serves to make Hot Rod nervous.

Hot Rod shakes his head. “Like I told Crystal Wing, Deadlock would have called. He… he always comes back when he says he will.”

“I see.” Thunderbird nods quickly. “So you’re _certain_ that this isn’t right.” His wings are moving up and down.

“Thunderbird, Deadlock has been my protector for years. I know him.” Or he’d thought he did. After the last time they talked, he should start re-evaluating everything.

“Yes, you do...” All of Thunderbird’s movements stop as he seems to consider something, but instead of talking he approaches one of the screens and sits down in front of it. His wings start fluttering. “I’ve been wanting to get something on those pieces of slag over at Rirsbnig for _years_.” His voice becomes high-pitched with excitement at the end.

“What do you mean?”

“Hmmm…” He opens a series of files and starts going through them. “You see… you know that our cause has attracted some… _interesting_ people, right? There are some like our dear Doctor, who were looking for equality. Others like dear Crystie here, who was considered worthless under every regime. And there are people like Shockwave, who I still don’t understand why they’re here.”

“Thunderbird. The point,” Hot Rod reproaches.

Thunderbird in-vents through his teeth and raises a leg to rest the side of his foot on his knee. He starts playing with the wheel at his heel.

“The head scientist over at Rirsbnig has always seemed more interested in the… research potential of the war than in the ideologies involved.” He shudders and selects a file on the screen. Pointing at it, he says, “Before the war, he worked in relinquishment clinics. From there, he moved to the Institute. He was rather… creative.”

It feels like Hot Rod’s spark is shrinking.

“Thunderbird. The point,” he says again, half pleading, half annoyed.

“He got permission to develop some soldier-related stuff. I don’t have the details.” He sighs. “That’s above my clearance level. But I’ve long believed that they’d turn against us sooner or later.”

“That’s all? You don’t have anything more concrete?” Hot Rod asks, exasperated.

“I believe Deadlock is in danger,” Thunderbird says, matter-of-factly. “Do you need more?”

“Yes! I need a good reason to enter a Decepticon lab unannounced and maybe bring some soldiers with me to help destroy it.”

“Hmmm…” He spins the wheel faster. “Do you want something honest or anything will do?”

“What do you mean?” Hot Rod asks warily.

“I don’t like the people over at Rirsbnig.” Thunderbird says solemnly. “They have no morals and no ideology. I’ve been looking for an excuse to shut them down for years. This,” he gestures at Hot Rod, “could be it.”

Hot Rod looks at the screen, and then at the rest of the room. For years, Thunderbird and Crystal Wing have been communications guys. Just some of the many mechs in charge of keeping their messages secure and tracking shuttles. Shutting down a lab shouldn’t be in their job description.

“Thunderbird…”

“Yes?”

“What’s your real occupation?”

Thunderbird smiles. For the first time in all the years he has known him, Hot Rod truly notices that all his teeth are sharp enough to rip through someone’s plating. He has talons. His gaze is intense and focused, even when he’s laughing and sharing wild theories during his free time. Despite being a couple centimeters shorter than Hot Rod and having a sleek frame, he doesn’t have any marks to indicate that he’s under anyone’s protection. The only things in his whole frame that look safe are the wheels at his heels, and he still hasn’t stopped playing with one of them.

It shouldn’t be a nice smile, yet it’s warm.

“Hot Rod,” Thunderbird says softly, “I’m offering to give you a reason to take a few hundred soldiers and storm a lab to rescue Deadlock. Do you need to know more?”

Curiosity’s eating Hot Rod inside.

“No. I need to find him.” He curls his hands into fists. “What will I owe you?”

“Absolutely nothing!” Thunderbird chirps. “If everything goes well, by the end of the week you’ll have your dear Deadlock and I’ll have my lab.”

“He’s not-”

“It’s a figure of speech,” Thunderbird says, waving a hand dismissively.

“Is it really going to take us so long to get him?”

Thunderbird’s smile becomes sympathetic.

“I need to convince high command that shutting down this lab is important, and then I need to get all the soldiers.”

Hot Rod looks at the screen again, not bothering to try to hide his worry.

“Is there anything I can do?”

“I have some old plans for that lab, and some more-or-less accurate information of their current layout and security measures. You can plan his rescue while I deal with bureaucracy.”

“Thank you,” Hot Rod says quietly.

He studies the plans. He studies the layout. He prepares for the guards, the locks and the walls. He drowns himself in planning to drown the voice in his head telling him they shouldn’t be wasting time like this, that he should just go.

_Deadlock is strong. He can wait another day. He’ll be fine._

In the afternoon, he gets a message and orders.

“Did you fake a message from Deadlock?” he asks Thunderbird, who smiles so innocently that Hot Rod would believe it if he didn’t know the truth.

“Me? No, of course not. How could you think something like that?” He also somehow manages to make those lines sound believable. “We just got lucky. What did the higher ups tell you?”

“Me and a group of Decepticons must go and shut down all operations as soon as possible.”

“Wonderful!” He turns towards the screen and starts downloading information. “I have taken the liberty of charting the safest and fastest route to Rirsbnig. It should keep you from detection.” He gives Hot Rod a conspiratorial look. “Of course, I’ll be going with you on the shuttles to ensure any radars and satellites miss us entirely. You can never be too safe.”

“Thank you, Thunderbird,” Hot Rod says, allowing himself a small smile.

“No, thank _you_ , dear Hot Rod.” Thunderbird sounds _giddy_. “This is finally happening.” He smiles, all teeth, and this time it’s not warm.

Hot Rod leaves the comms room in a daze, exhaustion and stress catching up to him, but he doesn’t want to sleep. His feet take him to the medibay.

The concern in Doctor’s field hits Hot Rod as soon as he enters his line of sight.

“When did you last recharge?” Doctor asks, standing up from behind his desk and hurrying over to Hot Rod’s side.

“Last night.”

“Let me rephrase.” He puts a hand on Hot Rod’s elbow and guides him to a chair. “When did you last sleep well?”

“The night before that.”

“Really? I thought you were more resilient than that.” He looks around. “Where’s Deadlock? I need him to drag you to your room.”

“He’s in Rirsbnig.”

There’s a pause during which Hot Rod can almost hear Doctor’s processor working.

“I see…”

“We’re going on a rescue mission soon,” Hot Rod blurts out. “We got a-” He doesn’t want to lie to Doctor. “There’s a message. He might need help.”

“Did Thunderbird get that message?” Doctor asks dubiously, the emotion in his tone reflected in his field as well. “He has it out for the Rirsbnig lab, I’m not sure it’s trustworthy.”

“You know about that?” Hot Rod asks, surprised.

Doctor goes to a storage unit and takes out a cube of medical grade before answering.

“I’m a medic. Knowing things is my job.” He gives Hot Rod the cube. “Drink that. You look like Megatron decided to relive his gladiator days with you as an opponent.”

Hot Rod sips at the fuel. Doctor returns to his desk and starts reading from a datapad, thankfully silent.

“Even if it isn’t trustworthy, I think he needs help,” Hot Rod says, halfway through the cube.

Doctor doesn’t move for a moment, then he slowly looks up and sets his datapad aside.

“Care to explain?”

“He… he said he’d be back in two days at most. He left three days ago.” He raises a hand with his palm towards Doctor to keep him from speaking and quickly says, “I know what you’re thinking! He could have been delayed. He might have been called elsewhere. That he’s probably fine…” He shakes his head and takes a sip of medical grade. “Deadlock always comes back when he says he will. Always. And when he can’t, he warns me. This isn’t normal.”

“I wasn’t thinking anything,” Doctor says innocently.

“Good! Because you would have been wrong.” Hot Rod holds the cube between his hands and lets his head drop. “He… it’s been years since he marked me. And I told him once that if I ever thought he needed help, I’d go and get him.” He touches the mark, tracing it slowly, the memory of Deadlock’s mouth against his plating playing at the back of his mind, the phantom touch of Deadlock’s lips against his own making it hard to speak, and every smile he had ever managed to bring out of Deadlock making his spark spin faster. “He takes his role very seriously. He knows that I _will_ go for him if he doesn’t come back, and he says that that defeats the purpose of him being my protector.”

There’s a hint of disbelief in Doctor’s field before he retracts it.

“So you think he’s in danger because he’s adamant in keeping you safe?”

“Yes.”

Doctor nods and stands up.

“You need to sleep. You can’t go on a rescue mission like this,” he says reproachingly.

“I’m fine.”

“No, you aren’t. You’re drowning your fear in medical grade and talking to me.”

“I like talking to you,” Hot Rod says, slightly offended.

“Everybody does.” He sighs, resigned. “Take one of the empty berths. At least that way I’ll know you’re resting.”

“Doctor…” Hot Rod tries to protest.

“This is a medical order.” Doctor’s tone becomes harsh. “Go to sleep. You can keep worrying tomorrow.”

You don’t antagonize medics. That’s a basic rule of survival.

Hot Rod downs the cube and goes to one of the berths.

He wakes up several times during the night, sometimes from stress and other times from nightmares he tries not to remember.

.

.

.

.

Hot Rod stands in front of the gathered soldiers and studies them. This is the amount of soldiers you’d take to storm an _Autobot_ lab; he’s genuinely impressed at what Thunderbird has done.

“Yesterday,” he starts, trying not to pace, “Thunderbird received a distress signal from Deadlock. He left four days ago on what was supposed to be a routine recon and inspection mission to this lab.” He points at the screen behind him, where pictures of Rirsbnig, the lab, and the planet’s location on the Decepticon map are saving Hot Rod the trouble of saying that planet’s name aloud. He has no idea what the proper pronunciation is and he won’t make a fool of himself in front of everyone. “There was a message attached. Thunderbird?” He gestures for Thunderbird to explain further.

Thunderbird rolls from his place next to the wall and comes to a stop in front of the screen, his wings fluttering.

“The message is short, my suspicions are that Deadlock was worried about getting caught, but according to what it said, the scientists at Rirsbnig have gone rogue.” It’s an unnecessary thought, but Hot Rod can’t help but wonder if that’s the correct way of pronouncing the planet’s name. “I don’t know what Deadlock might have found, but it’s clear that they didn’t want it to be known. We don’t know if he’s still alive, but considering the head scientist’s penchant for experimentation, it’s an almost safe bet to say they might be holding him prisoner. Since Hot Rod is in charge of this mission, I’ll let him continue.”

With a sharp nod and a gesture, Thunderbird rolls away _backwards_ , leaving Hot Rod alone again in front of everyone.

“Deadlock might be alive. We don’t know if there are any other Decepticon prisoners in there. Because of this, our mission will have two stages. The first one will consist of infiltration and rescue. We need to see what’s happening before launching an attack.” He changes the images on the screens to show the lab’s different access points. “The information we have about the place is relatively old.  The first stage will be carried out by a small team. We must check escape routes and security measures and see if there’s any valuable information. After we’ve determined the threat, or if it’s actually a threat, we will attack.  It’s not up to us to judge who deserves to be executed, so let’s keep casualties to a minimum. We’ll go over the details now.”

This… briefing? Debriefing? He always gets those mixed up… Well, this meeting is the culmination of hours of planning and strategizing. He knows many of the Decepticons going on this mission. The soldiers that will go with him on the first stage have already been selected. He convinced Doctor to leave one of his colleagues in the medibay and to be their field medic. Everything is as certain and safe as possible, and if it wasn’t Deadlock’s life on the line, he’d feel confident.

His hands are shaking and he needs to move.

The (de)briefing ends with the instruction to gather in the shuttle bay in half an hour. They want to reach Rirsbnig by nightfall. Rirsbnig’s nightfall; their own base, located in peaceful, empty Pache, will be greeting the new day at that time.

Hot Rod busies himself reviewing his intel as the soldiers leave for their final preparations. Someone resets his vocalizer, startling him.

“Banshee! Hey!” Too enthusiastic. Wow. This is bad. He’s usually better at keeping his emotions in check.

“Sir,” Banshee says, respectfully tilting his head.

“It’s Hot Rod. I’ve told you.”

Banshee’s apologetic smile tells him that that’s not a request that will be heard in the near future.

“Sir, I have some… concerns regarding this mission.” Banshee in-vents slowly and removes his visor. It surprises Hot Rod to discover that his optics are golden – he’d expected the familiar Decepticon red, or something closer to the white and pink of Banshee’s frame.

“Do you think there are problems with our strategy?” Hot Rod says, frowning. He’d reviewed it with Thunderbird; it should be okay.

“Not that, sir.” Banshee lowers his head and fidgets with his visor. So quickly that Hot Rod has trouble picking out the words, he says, “We think you might be emotionally compromised.”

Hot Rod doesn’t move. He can’t react. He can’t give himself away.

“What makes you think that?” He also can’t help sounding affronted.

“This isn’t the first time you’ve risked yourself for Deadlock,” Banshee says plainly.

“I’m not-”

“Tell me, sir. If you didn’t think Deadlock was a prisoner, would you be going on the first stage of this mission? Would this mission even have two stages?” he asks more forcefully.

Hot Rod stands straighter and coldly says, “How many people have I dragged back from the battlefield?”

“At least one for every battle you’ve been in.”

“So what makes you think I wouldn’t be doing the exact same thing for anyone else?”

Banshee puts a finger on his right shoulder, right at the point where it meets his neck, in the exact spot where a bite mark can be found on Hot Rod.

“He marked you. You’re _his_. Some of us wonder if you’ve forgotten that a mark only means that you’re under his protection.”

Hot Rod grits his teeth and glares at Banshee. He doesn’t need this right now.

“My relationship with Deadlock has nothing to do with doing what’s right.”

“That’s the problem, sir. Your ‘relationship’ with Deadlock. That sort of mark means…” Banshee looks away from Hot Rod. “Some of us think you might believe you have an actual friendship with him. Or that the nature of your… ‘agreement’ with Deadlock has some sort of emotional component.”

He wants to laugh. They’d picked that sort of mark _precisely_ because it would hint at their relationship being physical. He never thought it’d play against them like this.

“There’s a fellow Decepticon in danger. I’d do the same for you. I’d do the same for Thunderbird. I’d do the same for Doctor,” he grits out.

“I know.” Banshee looks defiantly at Hot Rod. “The difference is that all of us think of you as worthy soldier. All of us know that you can hold your own in a fight. None of us would have marked you _like that_ ,” Banshee says, pointing at Hot Rod’s mark.

“What are you saying, Banshee? That I should let him die?” he says, throwing his hands in the air.

“That you should question why you’re going on this mission.” Banshee’s voice is unnervingly calm. “If anything besides your sense of duty is guiding you.”

“What is it to you?”

“We’re worried, sir. We like you. We’d rather have you in the battlefield saving our afts than risking yourself unnecessarily for Deadlock.”

“I’ve already told you-”

“We know you’d do the same for us. We also think you might take more risks for Deadlock.” Banshee puts on his visor again and shrugs. “I’m only the mech that got picked to deliver this message. You should think about it.”

With another respectful nod, he walks away.

Hot Rod stands alone in front of the screens and proceeds to not think about the recent conversation. Banshee’s right, he _is_ letting his emotions guide the mission. There were several tasks, and when the time to divide them had come, he’d taken the map, marked the area in which the cells were located, and assigned himself the duty of finding the prisoners. Thunderbird had only looked at him with a raised brow ridge and told him to ask Doctor for a spark signature detector.

.

.

.

.

Staying still during the trip to Rirsbnig is a nightmare, but Hot Rod manages it, except for those times in which he starts absentmindedly tapping on the mark and catches Banshee with his head slightly turned in his direction.

Once in Rirsbnig’s orbit, they teleport to the surface and enter the lab through the front door after knocking out the strangely incompetent guards. Then they split up.

Hot Rod slowly makes his way through the building, his guns ready in case anyone crosses his path and the spark signature detector in one of his hands. So far, he hasn’t run into anyone. It makes no sense; a lab should have guards to keep potential Autobot spies from stealing secrets.

::Hot Rod, the next hallway’s clear,:: Thunderbird says.

Thank Primus for Thunderbird. He’s coordinating everything from one of the shuttles, checking security feeds and keeping everyone up to speed on what’s being found. One of them found some dead Autobots. Another one found what seemed to be an operating room. Someone figured out the locks.

No one has stumbled upon any guards.

::They use optic scanners. You just need to drag a guard to a door and you’ll have access,:: Thunderbird informs him.

::Understood.::

He’s almost at the cells. On the radar, Deadlock’s spark signature is weak, a time limit that Hot Rod refuses to think about.

Deadlock is _hurt_ in a _cell_ in a _Decepticon_ lab. This shouldn’t have happened. He should have been _safe_ here. How had this happened? Why?

The questions keep repeating themselves in his head.

How.

Why.

How.

Why.

His fear and anger grow with each step he takes towards the cells.

::Team, listen carefully,:: Thunderbird says, strangely subdued. ::Sunbeam found some of the guards. It’s not pretty.:: He pauses. ::We will review the images once we return to Pache. For now, prepare to retreat; we’re proceeding with stage two.::

Hot Rod doesn’t want to think about what Sunbeam might have found. He also doesn’t want to think about leaving without Deadlock.

“Stop right there and turn around slowly.”

Frag.

_Frag._

_Fraaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaag._

He raises his hands and does as instructed, hunching his shoulders and plastering a nervous look on his face. He’s not surprised to find a large mech pointing a large gun at him and looking largely unimpressed with him. The mech’s hold on the gun is stiff and the angle is odd, like he’s trying to remember how he’s supposed to use the weapon. Everything tells Hot Rod that this mech isn’t really a soldier; he’d bet his life on the suspicion that this is one of the lab’s scientists.

The spark signature detector he’s still holding reminds him of how real that gamble is.

“You have thirty seconds to explain yourself,” the mech says, approaching him slowly.

“I- I was just- I came here-” Hot Rod says with a trembling voice. For good measure, his hands shake.

The mech looks him up and down, his eyes catching on the deceptibrand. It’s less than a second of distraction.

Hot Rod takes it.

He drops the spark signature detector, ducks, and runs into the mech’s personal space, jams the guns on his forearm into the shoulder joint of the arm holding the weapon and fires.

The mech screams, the sound spreading through their surroundings and probably alerting everyone of Hot Rod’s presence.

Every second is precious now.

Hot Rod rips out the arm, taking advantage of the mech’s pain to take a step back and deliver a blow to his head that makes the mech stumble. Quickly, Hot Rod drops to the ground and kicks the mech’s feet from under him, rolling out of the way as he falls and reaching for the gun that’s still being held by the mech’s lost limb.

Hot Rod stands up, holding the gun like a club and, before the mech can react, proceeds to knock him unconscious with it.

::Hot Rod, what have you _done_?:: Thunderbird asks. ::There are alarms coming from your area.::

::I was discovered.::

::Get out of there now. I’ll prepare an orbital bounce,:: Thunderbird says urgently.

::Don’t you _dare_. I’m almost at the cells,:: Hot Rod challenges.

::Hot Rod-::

::Thunderbird,:: he says harshly.

For a moment, there’s silence.

::As soon as you find him, send me your location,:: Thunderbird’s tone is cold. ::We can’t waste more time.::

::Understood.::

::When we get back to base, we’ll talk about this.::

::Fine.::

The line goes dead. Hot Rod tries to find it in himself to care about what Thunderbird will say later and finds out he can’t.

He picks up the spark signature detector and turns towards the unconscious mech.

“You’re lucky the cells are close,” he tells the limp form before grabbing him by his remaining arm and dragging him to the end of the hallway, where a reinforced door leads to a hallway lined by steel doors, all of them with plaques on them and complex locks.

The detector tells him that Deadlock’s cell is the first one to his left. Using all his strength, Hot Rod lifts the mech to the optic scanner, and drops him unceremoniously as soon as the door’s unlocked.

The door opens far too slowly. The first glimpse he gets of the cell as he waits is a white floor and some energon stains. Then there’s a foot. Only one.

He rushes into the cell to find Deadlock – what’s left of him; Hot Rod’s going to murder whoever did this – slumped against a wall and completely limp, his head hanging awkwardly to the side.

“Deadlock,” he whispers in horror as he assesses the damage, “what have they done to you?”

He kneels in front of Deadlock, his hands hovering over his chest and shoulders, not daring to touch him and knowing he’ll have to in order to save him, but… someone tore out his left arm. His right arm has been dismantled to its base structure. His left leg was cut below the knee, leaving some circuitry exposed, and part of his abdominal and chest plating has been removed.

Deadlock’s eyes are open but dim, and there’s no reaction to Hot Rod’s words.

“Deadlock,” he whispers again, reaching with his field to make his presence felt.

For an instant he fears Deadlock’s too far gone, that he’s too late, but then his field grazes Deadlock’s, causing it to ripple and for warmth to spread through it.

Deadlock’s optics light up and he lifts his head slightly to look at Hot Rod. His field reaches back, cautiousness and curiosity changing into fear upon contact.

“I’m getting you out of here,” Hot Rod whispers, putting a hand on Deadlock’s face and allowing himself a moment of weakness to brush Deadlock’s cheek with his thumb.

Deadlock’s fear changes into relief and he turns his head to lean into Hot Rod’s touch, closing his eyes.

As gently as possible, Hot Rod puts an arm around Deadlock’s torso and tucks Deadlock’s head into the crook of his neck, Deadlock’s ventilations against his plating being the only thing stopping him from leaving the cell and trying to find and kill as many of the scientists as possible. He doesn’t think about how cold Deadlock’s frame feels, doesn’t wonder if it’s simply that Hot Rod’s own frame is always too warm or if it’s because of the condition Deadlock’s in.

::Thunderbird? I’ve got him. Get us out of here.::

Instead of an answer, he finds himself and Deadlock getting teleported outside, and then immediately into one of the shuttles orbiting Rirsbnig.

“What in Mortilus’s name…” Hot Rod hears Doctor whisper before he hurries to Hot Rod’s side to help him put Deadlock on a medical berth.

Doctor quickly connects Deadlock to a monitor and an energon line, and sets to work on closing leaking wounds.

Hot Rod can only look around himself. The whole shuttle is empty except for the pilot and Doctor, and it has been turned into an impromptu medibay. What if this isn’t enough to save him? What if they can’t make it back to base on time?

“You have to get back down there,” Doctor says, dragging him out of his thoughts. “Stage two is about to start.”

Hot Rod opens his mouth to protest, looking at Deadlock, who is unconscious again.

“Hot Rod, you’re in charge of this mission. You’re of no use hovering here.” Doctor puts a hand on Hot Rod’s shoulder and squeezes gently. “Get back down there and lead. I’ll let you know if anything happens,” he says seriously.

Hot Rod lets out a small, desperate laugh.

“Aren’t you scared that my emotions will affect me?”

“Should I be? The way I see it, if you get yourself killed because your feelings distracted you, then you can’t come back here to see Deadlock,” Doctor says, matter-of-factly.

Hot Rod has never felt so obvious in his entire life.

He gives Deadlock one last look before asking Thunderbird to send him back to Rirsbnig.

The attack is quick and efficient. The scientists’ idea of using their own guards as test subjects left them unprepared.

Thunderbird directs their advance through the base, a methodic inspection that drags out every mech in it. They rescue a couple of guards and send them to Doctor. They find files detailing what happened to those that Sunbeam hadn’t seen earlier. Before morning, the Rirsbnig lab is empty, and Hot Rod gives the order to retreat.

“You fly with me,” Doctor says when he sees Hot Rod stumbling towards one of the awaiting shuttles. Hot Rod’s thankful that they won’t have to get teleported back to them, he doesn’t want to deal with an orbital jump after all he’s been through in the last few hours.

“What? Why?”

“I’ll check you up on the way back, it should save me some time later,” Doctor says lightly.

“I’m fine, Doctor. I don’t need-”

“Hot Rod, I’m telling you that you can fly back to Pache in the medical shuttle.” He sounds impatient.

It takes him a second to understand what Doctor’s saying. He opens his mouth.

“If you dare to say anything even remotely similar to ‘thank you’, I’m sending you back with the others.”

Hot Rod closes his mouth.

“Good mech,” Doctor says, nodding.

He _does_ check him up during the trip back to base. He sits Hot Rod down on the berth right next to Deadlock’s and proceeds to examine him.

“He’s sedated,” Doctor says when he catches Hot Rod watching Deadlock. “No one should be awake in his condition.”

“Will he be alright?”

“Yes,” Doctor says, without a hint of a doubt. “Don’t worry, he’s in the best hands.”

Hot Rod tries to smile at that.

.

.

.

.

The shuttle’s motors have just been turned off when the door opens and Thunderbird walks up the ramp. Hot Rod can count with one hand the amount of times he has seen Thunderbird _walk_ instead of roll around.

“Hot Rod! There you are!” he chirps, his wings fluttering. “Did something happen? Are you injured?”

“I wanted to get his check-up done before landing,” Doctor says indifferently. “One patient less to see now.”

“That’s a very smart thing, Doctor,” Thunderbird says, turning to give a warm smile to Doctor, who just shrugs.

“I’m a practical bot.”

“I’ve noticed.” Thunderbird nods and takes out a data slug. “I reviewed the information we got from the lab. I’ve taken the liberty of bringing over the file about dear Deadlock.”

“You reviewed everything?” Doctor asks, intrigued. “I would have thought that a lab that size would have had more information.”

“Oh no, I didn’t review everything. I just looked for anything that mentioned Deadlock. I thought it might make your job easier,” he says, shrugging with his shoulders and his wings, which take longer than his shoulders to go down.

“Thank you for your… _consideration_ towards the medical profession,” Doctor says, irony in his tone, as he reaches for the data slug.

“Always. It’s a difficult job.” Thunderbird’s smile softens for a second before he grins and turns to Hot Rod. “Now, Hot Rod, I believe I said we’d talk when we got back.”

Hot Rod blinks.

“I thought you meant later.”

“No time like the present,” Thunderbird chirps, rolling towards the door and then down the ramp. “Come on!”

Hot Rod follows him to the communications room.

“Hi, Crystie,” Thunderbird chirps. “Were you worried? Did you miss me?”

Crystal Wing smiles and shakes his head slowly.

“I don’t think anything could kill you.”

“I’m touched, Crystie,” Thunderbird laughs. “Mind if I talk to Hot Rod in private?”

“Not at all!”

It takes Crystal Wing a full minute to reach the door. Five minutes after Crystal Wing’s exit, Thunderbird speaks.

“What was that over at Rirsbnig?” he asks, annoyed. He’s leaning against one of the consoles, his ankles crossed. “I gave a clear instruction: ‘Get out of there.’ But you _had_ to go and play hero.”

“He was dying,” Hot Rod says plainly.

“The entire mission could have gone to the Pit.” Thunderbird points an accusing finger at Hot Rod.

“You didn’t have to let me stay. You could have teleported me back immediately.”

Thunderbird presses his lips tightly and looks away, ex-venting loudly.

“I told you that you’d get Deadlock, and I’d get that lab to fall. It didn’t seem right not to give you what you wanted,” he says tiredly.

“Then why are you trying to tell me off?” Hot Rod asks, raising his hands in an exasperated gesture.

Thunderbird uncrosses his ankles and lifts himself to sit on the console behind him.

“You have potential, Hot Rod.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“I’m not talking about what Megatron saw,” Thunderbird says, waving a hand dismissively. “I’m talking about what you’ve been doing. What you mean to many of these soldiers.” He sighs. “People like you, Hot Rod. With the right guidance, you could become a greater leader than Megatron.”

“What are you suggesting?” Hot Rod asks warily.

“Nothing. I’m saying that Megatron saw potential in you, but didn’t notice its… scope. This war is big, Hot Rod, and it keeps growing. At some point, Megatron won’t be able to oversee every little detail, and more and more small campaigns will be left to his subordinates. You could be important, Hot Rod, but you keep jumping on grenades.”

Hot Rod crosses his arms over his chest.

“You’re not the first to tell me something like that. But what you’re telling me is that my jumping on grenades is _precisely_ what makes me interesting as a potential leader.” He tilts his head and gives Thunderbird an unimpressed look. “So tell me. Do I keep doing what I’m doing or do I adapt and act just like everybody else?”

Thunderbird purses his lips.

“You’re a problem, did you know that?” He starts swinging his legs, his heels softly hitting the machinery and creating a dull rhythm. “I don’t have an answer. I didn’t want you to get killed because you wanted to play hero, but I don’t think I would have liked it if you’d left Deadlock behind.”

“So? What does this mean?”

Thunderbird shrugs.

“It means I’ll keep quiet about how you risked this mission for Deadlock, and ensure you’re never again put in a situation with prisoners.”

He hops down from the console and rolls towards a chair.

“What was this talk supposed to accomplish?” Hot Rod asks, frowning.

“I guess I’ve learned a bit more about you?” He shrugs with one shoulder and points towards the door. “Dear Crystie’s probably only halfway through the hallway, can you call him back? Rirsbnig has given us a lot of extra work.”

“So that’s it?” Hot Rod asks, disbelieving and half angry. “You stage this whole dramatic conversation just to go ‘whatever’?”

“Is that so bad?” Thunderbird asks, raising an optic ridge. “Do you want me to be angry? Threatening? What would we get from that?” He brings a hand to his chin, his talons now directly in Hot Rod’s line of sight. Then he smiles, tight-lipped. “I think this was better. Thank you for your help, Hot Rod.”

Hot Rod turns around and leaves. Thunderbird has a point.

He heads to the medibay, where one of the other medics tells him he’ll have to wait, because Doctor is busy with Deadlock.

Hot Rod once again finds himself waiting, sitting on the floor outside the medibay and tapping at the mark on his neck.

He loses track of time.

“You need to refuel,” a soft voice says, placing an energon cube on the floor next to Hot Rod.

He looks to his side to find Banshee leaning down and looking at him, his lips pressed into a thin line.

“Thank you,” Hot Rod says, taking the cube.

“Any news?”

“Doctor’s fixing him right now.”

“I meant about the lab,” Banshee snaps.

Hot Rod takes a few sips to delay answering.

“Thunderbird and Crystal Wing are reviewing the information. We should have a proper debriefing tomorrow.”

“You’re not really helping your case here,” Banshee says, gesturing with his head towards the medibay. “You’ve never waited for any of us to get patched up.”

“You’ve never arrived in Deadlock’s condition,” Hot Rod says defensively.

“Right. That’s the reason.” Banshee straightens up. “You’re touching your neck, you know?”

Hot Rod drops his hand.

“You really need to remember what that mark means and _why_ Deadlock’s protecting you. It would probably be better for you to find somebody else to watch your back.”

Hot Rod wants nothing more than to tell the truth, that Deadlock has never touched him, that the marking was the closest they’ve ever been. He wants to explain that the only reason he has that sort of mark is because someone suspecting them of being allies was bound to bring them unnecessary attention; that it’s better if they all think Deadlock’s getting something out of the agreement.

He keeps his mouth shut.

Banshee walks away.

Despite knowing he should get out of there, Hot Rod can’t move. Deadlock might not have wanted to see him before leaving and he probably won’t want to see him when he wakes up, but Hot Rod feels better being close to him, like proximity can keep death at bay.

A few more hours pass before Doctor finally exits the medibay, his field a mix of exhaustion and rage that melts into concern as he crouches next to Hot Rod.

“This can’t be healthy,” he teases.

“You’re the doctor, Doctor. You should know,” Hot Rod says with a lopsided smile.

Doctor lets out a soft laugh. “I do, actually. But I don’t think that you want to talk about healthy habits right now.”

Hot Rod shakes his head.

“I rebuilt him, but I still have a lot of work to do.” Doctor stands up and offers him a hand. “I can’t give you more details because of patient confidentiality, but I can tell you he’ll be physically fine.”

“ _Physically_ fine?” Hot Rod asks as he takes the offered hand and gets pulled upwards.

“Would you be emotionally fine if you’d been left in that condition?” Doctor asks, sounding darkly amused. “He’s alive. That’s what matters. What happens next is a problem for later.” He lets go of Hot Rod’s hand and pats his back. “Go to sleep. I’ll call you if anything happens. And I’ll get you a chair inside the medibay so you can hover comfortably tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Doctor.” He pauses, considering his next words, and then blurts out, “You know what they were doing to him, don’t you?”

Rage flows through Doctor’s field before he draws it back.

“I do.”

“What-”

“Patient confidentiality, Hot Rod.” He starts pushing Hot Rod away from the medibay. “If you want information, ask Thunderbird. You’re not finding out from me unless I get Deadlock’s permission to tell you.”

“Is he still unconscious?”

“I’m keeping him like that until I finish everything.” Doctor sighs. “I’m too tired right now to continue working.”

“It’s okay, Doctor. Thank you for your work.”

“I do my best.”

“And you’re the best.”

Doctor laughs at that. They reach the end of the hallway and he pushes Hot Rod towards the living quarters.

“Get some rest. I’ll see you in a few hours,” Doctor says before turning back towards the medibay.

“Aren’t you resting too?” Hot Rod asks, concerned.

“I want to ask Thunderbird some questions first,” Doctor says, turning to face Hot Rod again. “He must have reviewed some more information during these hours, right? I’ll sleep after I talk to him.”

“Won’t that take a while?”

Doctor shakes his head. “I only have a couple of questions and a quick request. Don’t worry about me. Unlike some _other_ Decepticons I know, I go to sleep when I have to,” he says reproachfully.

Hot Rod does his best to look offended, but all that gets him is Doctor waving mockingly at him and resuming his walk towards the communications room.

All Hot Rod can do is recharge. Doctor’s right.

.

.

.

.

He rushes into the cell to find Deadlock slumped against a wall and completely limp, his head hanging awkwardly to the side.

“Deadlock,” he whispers in horror as he assesses the damage, “what have they done to you?”

Deadlock’s frame is grey, and when Hot Rod’s field reaches for him, he doesn’t find anything.

Hot Rod wakes up for the third time since he lied down to recharge. According to his internal chronometer, he’s been away from the medibay long enough to justify coming back.

He goes to the comms room instead.

“Welcome back, Hot Rod,” Thunderbird says from his spot in front of the screens. There are a couple of empty cubes next to him. Crystal Wing is asleep in a corner.

“Did you get any rest?”

“I’ll rest when this is finished,” Thunderbird says, gesturing around himself. His hands are shaking.

“That can’t be healthy.”

“You sound like our dear Doctor,” Thunderbird laughs, even though he’s resting much of his weight on the console next to him.

“It must be rubbing off on me.”

“There are worse things to get from other people.”

“I’m here to ask about the lab. What were they doing?” Hot Rod asks, crossing his arms.

Thunderbird rubs his eyes with the heel of his hands and tiredly says, “You _can_ just ask me what they did to Deadlock, you know?”

Hot Rod huffs.

“I’d like to, but I’m supposed to report on this mission,” he says, resigned. “I wasted a lot of time yesterday.”

Thunderbird hums dubiously. “I don’t think you’d have been able to focus on paperwork yesterday.”

“What do you know?” Hot Rod asks defensively.

Sluggishly, Thunderbird digs around his subspace and takes out a cube of energon. He stares at the liquid for a moment before shaking his head and saying, “I know a lot of things.”

Hot Rod’s tempted to drag him to the medibay and ask the medic on shift to tie him to a recharge slab.

“Now _you’re_ the one that’s acting like Doctor.”

“He’s the one that acts like me,” Thunderbird says into the cube. He takes a few sips before turning back towards the screens, sighing. “You’ll have to talk to the guards we rescued. And to the scientists. You’ll have to read a lot, now that I think about it, but you can probably have a preliminary report by the end of the day.” His speech is slurred.

“Thunderbird. The point.”

He sighs again and leans back in his chair. He drinks more energon. He tells Hot Rod everything he has discovered.

The Rirsbnig lab had been looking into pain modulation technology. The initial idea had been to create software that would block any pain signals that weren’t associated to lethal wounds. The initial test subjects had been Autobot prisoners. But the scientists had never been really interested in the war, they just cared about their projects, and so they’d moved on to try to develop soldiers that didn’t feel any pain.

“Forget software, they were trying to directly alter the frames.” Thunderbird’s mouth twists in disgust.

“So Deadlock…”

“They were removing pain sensors and seeing what worked and what didn’t.” He chugs what’s left of the energon and sets the empty cube aside. “I’m not sure if they were planning to desert or if they thought Megatron wouldn’t care about the dead Decepticons once they showed up with their new development.”

Hot Rod looks at the screen.

“So… high command approved of them using Autobot prisoners?”

“Not sure if high command, or just some members of it. I’ve yet to review that.” Thunderbird’s hand moves towards the console.

In three steps, Hot Rod’s standing next to Thunderbird and forcing his hand away from the buttons.

“You need rest. Urgently.”

Thunderbird pulls his hand free and makes a shooing motion. “I’m fine.”

“You’re tired.”

“This is important.” He points towards the screens.

“It’ll still be here after a nap,” Hot Rod says, conciliatory. “The lab’s empty. We have the scientists. We have the information.” He hardens his tone and says, “Go to sleep or I’ll drag you away from here.”

Thunderbird smirks, a hint of fang visible between his lips. “You wouldn’t be able to.”

“You’re smaller than me and you can barely move. I’m sure I’d manage,” Hot Rod deadpans.

Groaning, Thunderbird pushes his chair back and stands up. He’s wobbly, and Hot Rod’s quick to reach for him.

“Can you get me a copy of the files? I want to start on my report.”

Quickly, Thunderbird copies everything into a data slug and hands it over to Hot Rod.

“My summaries are there too.”

“Thank you.” Hot Rod takes hold of Thunderbird’s elbow and starts pulling him towards the door, a task facilitated by the wheels on Thunderbird’s heels. “Come on. I’m going to the medibay. A medic will get you a recharge slab and some medical grade.”

“I have a habsuite.”

“And you might start working again if I leave you alone. This is better. I’ll call Doctor to scare you into sleeping.”

Thunderbird barks out a laugh and allows himself to be dragged through the hallways.

Thankfully, Doctor’s on shift. He takes one look at them and his field floods with exasperation. He guides Thunderbird to a chair, puts a cube of medical grade in his hands, and manages to glare at him through his visor. It’s amazing to see, even though it doesn’t seem to cause any effect; Thunderbird raises the cube as if toasting and proceeds to ignore Doctor as he drinks it.

“Thanks for bringing him,” Doctor says, turning his back on Thunderbird and moving to stand next to Hot Rod. “I’m assuming you know about what they were doing?”

Hot Rod nods.

A flash of anger passes through Doctor’s field. After it’s gone, Hot Rod notices that the emotion is still there, simmering beneath Doctor’s always-tense energy.

“Rebuilding a sensor net isn’t the easiest thing in the universe,” Doctor says. “But it’s not the hardest either. It’s mostly… tedious. I should be able to wake him up tomorrow.”

“Thanks again. I-” He looks around, trying to find Deadlock. Hot Rod has no reason to be there. “I think I’ll go to my habsuite. I have a report to write.”

“You can work here if you want. Just keep an eye on Thunderbird and ensure he _recharges_ ,” Doctor says, turning to point an accusing finger at Thunderbird, who is staring at the now empty cube of medical grade like it holds the answers to the universe.

The conversation is put on hold because Doctor proceeds to grab Thunderbird’s arm and guide him to a recharge slab.

“Sorry about that,” he says once back with Hot Rod. “This base is full of self-destructive idiots.” Hot Rod smiles guiltily at that. Thankfully, Doctor chooses not to comment and instead says, “You can use my desk. I’ll be busy with Deadlock and the rescued guards, so don’t bother me unless Thunderbird’s being irresponsible.”

“Sure, Doctor.”

“Also, Hot Rod…” Doctor turns back to look at Thunderbird, who is watching them. “Do you speak hand?”

“Enough to understand what’s said to me.” Deadlock had been teaching him. It was another thing Hot Rod liked, how patient he was with him, how careful when pressing words into Hot Rod’s hands, how he never hurried Hot Rod and let him take his time trying every new word he learned.

Doctor takes one of Hot Rod’s hands and turns to hide it from Thunderbird’s sight.

“H  e    a  s  k  e  d    a  b  o  u  t    y  o  u.”

Hot Rod turns his head slightly to look at Doctor, letting his surprise show.

“A  f  t  e  r    y  o  u    w  e  n  t    b  a  c  k    t  o    R  i  r  s  b  n  i  g    f  o  r    s  t  a  g  e    t  w  o,    h  e    w  o  k  e    u p    a  n  d    a  s  k  e  d    a  b  o  u  t    y  o  u.” Doctor drops Hot Rod’s hand. “I thought you should know.”

He wants to know more. He wants to know if Deadlock was angry, or worried, or just curious, but it doesn’t seem like Doctor wants to say more with Thunderbird in the room.

Hot Rod nods and settles down to work on his report. Throughout the day, he watches Thunderbird fight and lose against sleep, watches the rescued guards leave the medibay darting distrusting looks at Hot Rod as they walk towards the door, watches Doctor gather tools and disappear behind the door to the operating room.

His fingers find his mark and stay there, tracing it and tapping on it.

Hours later, he feels sick, but at least he has finished his task. His processor can’t let go of the details of what was done to the Autobot prisoners. This is a war, yes, but that was… it had nothing to do with what they were fighting for; it was sadism.

Fingers tap on the desk, bringing his attention back to the medibay.

“It’s the end of my shift,” Doctor says plainly. “Time to go.” He then goes to Thunderbird’s side and shakes him awake. “Hey. Get up. You can get back to work if you want to.”

Thunderbird blinks sleepily, looking up at Doctor like he doesn’t understand what’s happening. Then he sits up quickly and jumps off the berth.

“Thank you for your patience,” he says with a smirk.

“It’s my job,” Doctor says, shrugging.

Thunderbird and Hot Rod leave the medibay together. To Hot Rod’s surprise, Thunderbird doesn’t head back to the comms room and goes to the living quarters.

“It’s not my shift,” he says in reply to Hot Rod’s questioning look.

“Oh.”

“I don’t live there. I have a life. Kind of.” He shrugs. “I have as much of a life as you can have while stuck in a base during a war.”

Hot Rod laughs, and Thunderbird chuckles at his own words.

“Thanks again for everything, Hot Rod. Rirsbnig has been a pain for years, and now it’s gone.”

“I wish it had happened in any other way,” Hot Rod mutters.

“Believe me, so do I,” Thunderbird says quietly. “Deadlock is lucky to be your protector. I’m not sure anyone else would have noticed his absence before it was too late, and by then no one would have been able to determine _where_ he’d gone missing.”

A chill runs down Hot Rod’s frame at those words. It had been so close. It could have gone so wrong.

There are still some hours left before it makes sense for him to recharge. He doesn’t trust himself around any weapons, so the shooting range is out of the question. He doesn’t want to deal with Banshee and the others, who will only judge him for being worried about Deadlock. He doesn’t think he could do anything to relax.

He locks himself up in his habsuite and keeps reading the files from Rirsbnig.

.

.

.

.

Deadlock is screaming and Hot Rod can’t save him.

Deadlock isn’t screaming anymore, and when Hot Rod touches him, he doesn’t react to the contact.

Hot Rod wakes up. His private comm frequency’s being hailed.

::I’m waking him up now,:: Doctor’s familiar voice says, comforting despite its careful detachment. ::I assume you’ll want to see him.::

::I’m on my way.::

::Don’t hurry, I’m not letting you talk to him until he’s fully awake.::

Like that would stop him.

Not wanting to waste time going to the refuel station, he gets an energon cube out of his subspace and drinks it so quickly he can feel the fuel sloshing inside his tanks as he hurries to the medibay.

“That was fast,” Doctor deadpans when Hot Rod walks into the medibay. “I won’t even pretend I’m surprised.”

“Is he awake?”

“Yes. I actually woke him up before calling you.” He tilts his head slightly and points towards the end of the medibay, where Deadlock’s lying on one of the slabs and very obviously looking at them.

Suddenly, Hot Rod doesn’t want to move. Deadlock starts sitting up on the slab, still looking at Hot Rod, and he wonders if it’d be better if he left. Does a week of torture count as a break? Is Deadlock ready to deal with him again?

He’s not a coward. He’ll get a better look at Deadlock, and then he’ll leave him alone.

Hot Rod’s feet are taking him to Deadlock before he’s done talking himself into approaching him. He stops next to Deadlock, his frame almost in contact with the edge of the slab, and gives himself a moment to take in his rebuilt frame. He has to hand it to Doctor, Deadlock looks the same as he used to. He’s also watching Hot Rod warily.

There are a dozen things Hot Rod wants to say, but he finds himself asking, “Did you know? About what they were doing in Rirsbnig?”

Deadlock seems surprised by the question, but he recovers quickly. “Of course not,” he says, offended.

“I’m not talking about what they were doing to Decepticons, I’m talking about experimenting on Autobots. Did you know about that?”

That only makes Deadlock’s frown deepen.

“Hot Rod, I didn’t know. I knew the lab existed, not what they did. I’m not in charge of science and research.”

Hot Rod crosses his arms in front of his chest. “How can I know that you’re telling me the truth?”

“When have I lied to you?”

He wants to remind Deadlock of how he’d insisted that he wasn’t tired of him while simultaneously saying he needed a break, but it’s not the time for that.

Besides, he wants to believe in Deadlock. He needs to believe this.

Deadlock seems to take his silence for further doubt.

“If you don’t believe me, I’ll show you,” he says, his hand going towards his panel. “It won’t be pretty, but I’ll show you the moment I realized what they’d been doing.”

Hot Rod gapes, unable to think of a single time in which Deadlock had offered to share memories.

“You don’t have to,” Hot Rod says, shaking his head.

Silence falls upon them. It’s uncomfortable, and awkward, and wary. Hot Rod hates it.

“Hot Rod,” Deadlock says quietly, “why were you in Rirsbnig?”

Hot Rod snorts, disbelieving. “You were in danger. I was there to save you.”

Some indeterminate emotion flashes over Deadlock’s face.

“How did you know I was in danger?”

Despite himself, Hot Rod smiles a bit.

“You said you’d be back in two days.” He gestures vaguely with a hand. “You always come back when you say you will.”

Deadlock sighs and runs a hand over his face.

“Why did you have to go there? You could have been captured!” he says, anger and exasperation in his voice.

“I’ve already told you why,” Hot Rod says defensively.

“That’s not a good reason! You don’t have to look after me; I’m the one that’s supposed to look after you. When I saw you there I thought-” He closes his mouth and looks at Hot Rod with poorly hidden despair. Or maybe it’s exasperation? “How was I supposed to get you out of there? I’ve told you! Don’t risk yourself for _me_.”

Yes, it must have been exasperation.

“Are you serious? You would have ended up dead if I’d left you there!” Hot Rod says, tossing his hands into the air.

“You don’t know that!”

“Yes I do! Ask the medics! Your spark–” Saying it is hard, the fear clawing at his throat. “It was starting to shrink. You– If I’d been just a day late–”

“It’s not a good reason, Hot Rod!” Deadlock sounds almost pleading, which only serves to anger Hot Rod.

“We have an agreement! You look after me and I look after you,” he says, pointing at Deadlock.

“And I’ve told you that you don’t have to do that!”

“Just because you don’t think I’m capable-”

“I’ve never said I don’t think you’re capable!”

“You obviously think it!” He remembers Banshee’s words after the (de)briefing. “Everyone knows that you think that!”

“I _don’t_ , Hot Rod,” Deadlock says earnestly.

“Then let me protect you!”

“Not if you’re going to put yourself at risk! If you want to sacrifice yourself for others, fine! I’ll go with you, and keep you from dying.” He pauses, his mouth opening and closing a couple of times before, more calmly, saying, “But I can’t be the reason you’re in danger. If it’s going to be like this, maybe it would be safer for you if we weren’t allies.”

Hot Rod gapes. Deadlock stares defiantly.

Well, frag this.

“That wouldn’t stop me,” Hot Rod says quietly.

“Why not? Just… stop, Hot Rod. Stop. I don’t need- I don’t need you to do this,” Deadlock says, just as quietly, and still sounding a bit desperate.

“Well, I do, okay? I do and I’ll keep doing this.”

“ _Why?_ You don’t have a single good reason, Hot Rod. Just… stay safe.”

“Not a single good-?” Hot Rod lets out a bitter laugh and brings his hand to the mark on his neck. “You’re right. I mean, it doesn’t matter, does it? I’m sorry, but my stupid reason is that I love you.”

Deadlock moves back like he’s been hit. Of course. No one wants feelings from the person they’ve been trying to avoid.

Hot Rod’s fingers curl over the mark, drawing Deadlock’s gaze to it.

“I’m sorry, okay? It’s inconvenient for you, and annoying, and unnecessary, but I do.” Deadlock’s eyes dart between Hot Rod’s face and the mark as he speaks. Hot Rod drops his hand. “I’m sorry, but I love you.”

Hot Rod doesn’t need to see Deadlock’s reaction. He knows it won’t be a good one and he has gone through too much in a couple of weeks to deal with it now.

He walks away.

Well, he tries to.

…fine, he _intends_ to walk away, but he has only managed to turn his head when Deadlock’s hand grabs him by the wrist and he’s pulled forward. Before he fully understands what’s happening, he finds himself on Deadlock’s lap, with one of Deadlock’s arms around his waist, pulling him close, and one of Deadlock’s hands on the back of his head, holding him in place as Deadlock presses his mouth to the mark on Hot Rod’s neck.

Hot Rod tries not to shiver as Deadlock’s lips part so he can gently scratch the mark with his fangs before tracing it with the tip of his tongue, while Deadlock’s thumb draws circles on Hot Rod’s hip.

He closes his eyes as Deadlock brushes a path up his neck with his lips, his hand moving from the back of Hot Rod’s head to cup his face. _Then_ Deadlock’s kissing him, and while Hot Rod still doesn’t know how this happened, he’s more than happy to part his lips and let Deadlock lick into his mouth. He’d be embarrassed of the sound he made at that if it hadn’t made Deadlock pull him closer.

He’s in an awkward position, sort of sprawled on Deadlock’s lap, mostly held up by Deadlock’s arm, so he puts a hand on Deadlock’s shoulder to better stabilize himself. He’s starting to figure out the best way to move to straddle Deadlock without having to stop kissing him when someone loudly resets his vocalizer and ruins the mood.

Hot Rod breaks the kiss with some difficulty, both because he doesn’t want to do so and because Deadlock’s lips follow his own, which results in him planting kisses on Hot Rod’s chin and the side of his mouth.

The intruder resets his vocalizer again, forcing Hot Rod to finally open his eyes and wriggle around to try to get a good look at whoever it is. Deadlock simply adjusts his hold on him, clearly unaffected.

There’s a very unamused Doctor glaring at them. Or, well, Hot Rod assumes he’s glaring, since his visor won’t let him know, but his arms are crossed, his fingers are twitching, and his field is full of exasperation and annoyance.

“Out,” Doctor says.

Hot Rod has to admire his courage, because he can tell Deadlock’s opinion of the order with a glance.

“You’re not doing anything in my medibay,” Doctor says harshly. “Out!”

“It’s not your medibay,” Deadlock says disdainfully, which is a bad idea. You shouldn’t antagonize medics.

“It will be,” Doctor says, standing straighter and taking a step forwards. “Now, you’re going to untangle yourselves and you,” he says, moving his head enough that Hot Rod knows it’s him that’s being spoken to, “are going to your habsuite and stop ruining my patient’s rest.”

Hot Rod’s very tempted to pout, but he has enough dignity left to remember that he should behave around the mech that saved Deadlock and will probably have Hot Rod’s life in his hands at various points in the future.

Deadlock loosens his hold on Hot Rod, but doesn’t let go. From where he is, leaning against Deadlock’s chest, Hot Rod can feel the rumbling of Deadlock’s engine, a low sound that tells Hot Rod he’s not the only one feeling horribly frustrated by the interruption.

He can’t believe he’ll have to be the responsible one here.

A beeping sound catches Doctor’s attention and gets him away from Deadlock’s berth. The idea of staying in Deadlock’s arms until Doctor kicks him out is tempting, but Hot Rod manages to gather all his willpower and move to pull away. Before he can do much, though, Deadlock leans down to kiss the mark again, his field full of desire as he kisses his way to Hot Rod’s audial and whispers, “I’ll go to your habsuite when I get discharged.”

He lets go of Hot Rod and leans back, the promise of _later_ hanging from his smile.

Hot Rod leaves the medibay in a daze. This is happening. Deadlock kissed him. Deadlock wants him. Deadlock-

Deadlock never said he loved him.

He almost stops walking as realization hits him. He replays the moments in his mind. His confession. Deadlock’s eyes on the mark. Deadlock’s lips on the mark. Deadlock’s desire and his intentions.

The mark says that Hot Rod is Deadlock’s. Hot Rod had just given Deadlock permission to do more.

He walks into his habsuite and looks around at the many trinkets that decorate it. Deadlock isn’t like that. He wouldn’t kiss Hot Rod if he didn’t feel anything, right?

Except he _had_ been tired of him. He _had_ needed a break. He _had_ refused to make the alliance a mutual thing. Perhaps Hot Rod had misunderstood everything and simply wanted to believe that Deadlock was better than he was.

Right. Like Deadlock wasn’t the mech that had dragged him away from the battlefield kicking and screaming. Like Deadlock hadn’t helped him save soldiers on numerous occasions. Like Deadlock didn’t look after his troops, and believed in the cause wholeheartedly, and wanted to ensure no Cybertronian ever again went through what they’d gone through.

Deadlock had earned Hot Rod’s love. It was Hot Rod that hadn’t earned anything more than Deadlock’s desire.

Slowly, methodically, Hot Rod puts his habsuite in order. He hides the trinkets, not wanting to see them when Deadlock finally gets there. He checks his frame for scratches and dents. He very deliberately doesn’t think as he moves around the room.

Desire is better than nothing. Hot Rod will take what he can get, even if it’s just an interface.

**Author's Note:**

> To avoid even the lightest mention of robot "organs", skip the scene that starts right after"watching until Deadlock finally boards his shuttle and flies away." What happens in that scene is that Hot Rod talks to the medic, who doesn't buy that Deadlock could be tired of Hot Rod.
> 
> To skip any robogore, skip from "Every second is precious now." in the scene where Hot Rod runs into someone, until "Deadlock’s eyes are open but dim, and there’s no reaction to Hot Rod’s words." in the same scene. All you need to know is that Hot Rod beats the crap out of someone and finds Deadlock.
> 
> To skip the details on the unethical experimentation, skip from "He sighs again and leans back in his chair. He drinks more energon. He tells Hot Rod everything he has discovered." to “So… high command approved of them using Autobot prisoners?” during the scene in which Hot Rod's talking to a _very tired_ Thunderbird.
> 
> Regarding the mark Hot Rod keeps talking about: long ago I read [this (very good) starjack fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5989198) that gave the idea that Decepticons established protection chains, and that they marked those under their protection as a way to indicate that those mechs should Not Be Messed With. That bit of worldbuilding was really cool and ended up finding its way into this universe (and playing a big part in it). If you want to read about Deadlock marking Hot Rod, the fic is "[Crash and burn](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17559308)".
> 
> Thanks for reading! Kudos are always appreciated and comments are loved and cherished because they make me happy. If you liked this fic and feel like promoting it, would you reblog [this post](http://veto-power-over-fanworks.tumblr.com/post/183483734955/declaration-of-intent-12) ? Thank you!


End file.
